| |
Everything
by Lex
EVERYTHING
EVERYTHING
"The way you kiss me gets me so hard."
They were so close: two men whose lips were almost touching, whose eyes were irrevocably trapped in the other's gaze, whose every ragged breath served as metronome for the other's pulsing blood. Chase's reverent palms burned against House's face; he spoke so softly that, for a moment, House wasn't sure if Chase had actually uttered the words, or if he had somehow willed them into House's brain.
"I want to get you hard." House's mouth moved over Chase's. The older man could feel the boy trembling against his chest, poised on the edge of passion, his coltish awkwardness turning to urgency under House's caress - but the diagnostician's long fingers, entangled in Chase's soft hair, held the blond head still and quiet.
"House," gasped Chase. Under the fixed scrutiny of House's brilliant blue gaze, the Australian ducked his head and curtained his bright eyes behind floppy golden bangs. "I ..." Chase bit his lip - white teeth catching the soft, tempting fullness - determined not to look up until he was able to manage his typical slight, calm smile. House, however, decided that the time had come to throw that maddening smile out the window, and forcibly tilted Chase's face upward.
"Tell me, baby. Give it to me," whispered House against Chase's white neck.
Chase clutched reflexively at House's shirt and whispered, "Give you what?"
House smiled slowly down into his young lover's face and deliberately brushed the soft hair away from his eyes. "Everything," he said. "Give me everything." Had he ever been satisfied with anything less?
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
It was easy to underestimate Robert Chase. A good-looking rich kid, coasting through a privileged life. Socially awkward, ingenuous, a bit of a dork - yet sharp enough when it came to protecting or advancing himself. But House, whose X-ray vision rivaled Superman's, knew better. (Truthfully, in House's opinion, no such keen perception or well-honed curiosity as his own was necessary to realize that Chase's "still waters [ran] deep." That so many failed to sense the tightly-wound intricacy and the complexity of Chase's make-up only served to reinforce House's disdain for other people.) But just knowing that Chase was a puzzle didn't mean actually solving that puzzle, and House had made frustratingly little progress toward that end. More and more, the kid had gotten under House's skin: an irritation both constant and - even in the time of that surprisingly hurtful betrayal to Vogler - delicious.
And then one night, everything changed. Everything.
After a late night crisis at the hospital, when House's weariness had for the moment overcome his roiling anger at his youngest team member, the diagnostician had looked - really looked - at Chase for the first time since the Betrayal, and was disconcerted by the pale translucence of the boy's skin, and the lavender circles under his veiled eyes. And it struck House that the thought of continuing to make his intensivist suffer was distasteful to him - no, more than distastefull: the idea of hurting Chase was hurtful to himself, as well. Before House could stop himself, he'd muttered as much to the Australian, staring fiercely downwards and tapping his cane repeatedly on the floor. After an audible hitch in his breath, Chase had been silent; finally, House, characteristically unable to bear such inaction, raised his head ... and what he saw in the blond's eyes had floored him. The childish hurt behind Chase's going to Vogler, the anguished regret that followed: the hunger for approval: the long, eyelash-shaded glances over relentlessly chewed pencils (House had been inadvertently fascinated by the sight of those pencils being worked in and out of Chase's pretty mouth): and, perhaps most importantly, the simple and genuine acceptance of House being House - all part of a bigger picture that House had missed. None of Foreman's indignant and righteous anger, none of Cameron's frustration and shocked disapproval, none of Wilson's well-meant but often annoying analysis of House's every move: just simple acceptance and ... so much more. The kid loved him ... had loved him all along, probably. So House, giving in to a long-unacknowledged craving, laid his calloused hand gently against Chase's face. The blond sighed and nestled more closely into the older man's caress; House, swallowing hard, slid his shaking hand around the back of Chase's neck, drew the boy close, and kissed him.
That had been the beginning of House's true learning when it came to Chase. He had to chuckle when he remembered the nagging suspicion of earlier days that he still had far to go before he found the key to his young employee; he'd had no idea ... no idea! Yet, with all the new mysteries about his young lover that challenged House in their new relationship, came myriad revelations and surprises that both quenched and intensified House's thirst. Not that Chase had become a chatterbox, big on "sharing feelings" and therapeutic hugs (for which House fervently thanked God). Although the barriers were falling, little by little, on both sides, House discovered that bed was one place where neither man could easily hide from the other. With every shared kiss, every desperate thrust of hips, every wanton arching of Chase's back, and every beckoning splay of legs, House unraveled a few more threads of Chase's web; every time Chase, panting and impatient, took House's hard length into himself, he was opening for House not only his body, but his being, as well. The Australian's every moan, every incoherent plea, every erotic whisper, every coarse obscenity, was another clue for House to hungrily absorb. Yet House was never satisfied that these gifts were freely given; he wanted all of Chase because Chase wanted House to have him, not because the kid couldn't help it. House wasn't one for doing things half-assed, after all.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Give me everything."
And Chase for once didn't close his eyes as he drew House down onto the bed. House felt the boy's hands on his body, felt the soft lips skim over his straining cock, felt the silky blond hair tickle his belly. House's hips jerked involuntarily under Chase's slow, lazy kisses and he groaned, but he wanted something else right now. So he pulled his lover up until they were face to face, and, kissing Chase's half-open mouth, flipped Chase onto his back. The young man lay still as House gazed intently down into his face, studying him in a way that Chase expected would make him uncomfortable, but surprisingly didn't. The Australian's chest rose and fell gently under House's hand with each breath; the minutes passed. Then House's hand started to move lightly over Chase's skin, tracing seemingly random paths, lingering over the stiffening nipples, playing teasingly over the ribcage. Chase shuddered but remained otherwise unmoving under House's gaze. But when House began to press his lower body against Chase's, rubbing their stiff cocks together and thrusting his knee between Chase's thighs, Chase's body jerked sharply upward and he couldn't hold back a sharp cry.
"Please!"
Then all he could manage were unintelligible noises and gasps as House made love to him with more focus, more intensity, than ever before. Chase lost all track of time; his surroundings blurred: the only reality was House's hard body above his, House's stubble scraping his cheek, House's low voice calling his name. Chase felt himself come into existence where House's hands stroked his body; he strained to be under their touch once again when House left him momentarily to undress. During that night, House peeled layer after layer from Chase, as petals from a flower, and Chase let his lover know without restraint, over and over again, in words and other ways, that he was House's.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Later, as Chase snuggled, drowsy and content, against House's chest, he mumbled, "Don't think you know everything about me. Don't think you have me all figured out."
House rolled his eyes, but the endearing sweetness of the kid's bravado turned his intended smirk into a fond smile. "Oh, I wouldn't presume," House replied, somewhat sarcastically - but, really, mostly not. Laughing softly and threading his fingers through Chase's thick hair, House turned out the light.
Please post a comment on this story.
Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
|
|
|